Chapter 9 - ETHAN
Contracts calm me. People imagine only violence when they think of men like me — noise, chaos and impulse. They’re wrong. Control is a silent act, like ink drying on expensive paper. Control is knowing exactly where the gaps in the road are before you begin your journey.
Marina is already seated when I enter her office. My private lawyer. The kind of lawyer who can be as dirty as the client, all in the name of a big payday where their morals can be swayed if the price is right.
Her office is designed the way surgeons choose instruments: minimal, sterile and designed to make weakness visible. Glass desk. No photographs. Nothing remotely soft or welcoming about this office. She stands when she sees me, out of habit more than respect.
“Ethan,” she says. “You’re early.”
“I dislike lateness.”
She gestures for me to sit. I don’t.
“I want a contract drafted,” I say. “Discretion agreement. NDA. Lifestyle provision. Hidden exclusivity clause.”
Her eyebrow lifts a millimeter, which is her version of surprise.
“For an employee?”
“An artist. Leo.”
“An artist who is also an employee?”
“Yes.”
She exhales slowly, already opening her laptop.
“What exactly are you offering him?”
“Money.”
“And in return?”
“One night of sex. No rules.”
She studies me over the rim of her glasses.
“I’m confused. If it’s one night, why the exclusivity clause?”
I meet her gaze. Her cold brown eyes are as dull as mine, but hers are from years of dodgy dealings and endless amounts of scum crossing her path.
“I want the long term plans in the small print. I know he won’t bother to read that part. I want it to be a surprise.”
Silence expands between us, like she is drifting out to sea while contemplating my sanity.
“You are aware,” she says carefully, “that contracts cannot legally bind affection?”
“I’m aware they can bind behavior.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s enough.”
She types something on her laptop, then pauses.
“Does he know?”
“Not yet.”
“Is there a spouse?”
“She’s irrelevant.”
Her fingers still.
“That could become… complicated.”
“Everything worthwhile is.”
“It would be wise to include the spouse in the contract to prevent any possible claims. Will they be involved in the discussions?”
“She will and that’s fine to include her.”
Marina leans back in her chair, assessing me the way doctors do when they’ve decided if a patient has a chance of survival.
“So, you’re asking me to construct a cage that looks like a gift? It’s highly unethical and could have consequences.”
I allow myself a small smile. I couldn’t have worded it better myself.
“Yes, it is.”
She scrutinises me for a moment, trying to dissect my plan and looking for any potential risks.
“And you want him to walk into it? Just like that? Take over his life?”
“Yes.”
I’m not sure why this is so difficult to comprehend.
“How long do you plan to keep him around?”
“Indefinitely.”
She nods once, brisk and finally accepting of the situation.
“I’ll draft something flexible, with a termination clause on his side. Golden handcuffs tend to be more effective when they’re padded.”
“Good, but make sure that’s in the fine print too. I don’t want him escaping so easily.”
She hesitates.
“Ethan… this is not a business transaction.”
“Everything is. Everyone has their price.”
“You don’t usually lie to yourself.”
I straighten my cuff.
“I’m not, I’m just not naive.”
“Professionally I think you’re crazy for doing this, but considering you pay me so well, I will have the contract couriered over by lunchtime tomorrow. Please be careful, Ethan.”
“You worry too much, Marina,” I say. She lets out a deep sigh as I leave her office. I’m sure she has dealt with worse requests than this.
When I exit the building, I’m greeted by the hustle of the busy streets, people walking like a herd of aimless animals. Something about it disgusts me as I push past people on the sidewalk where my car is waiting for me, and I hop inside, ready to go home.
On the journey, I picture Leo’s face when he realizes where I live, when he realizes that I’ve lied to him in order to get him into my home.
The way his eyes will flicker with hope before caution remembers to exist. Money.
It’s the one hook you can grab most people with.
The greatest motivator and tool out there to set traps, to feed lies in order to manipulate.
Money is the root of all evil. But in my case, it’s the root of good.
A tingling thrill spreads slowly, deliberately, from my chest up to my shoulders, then down my arms. Pure pleasure.
And I never rush pleasure.
My penthouse is dark when I arrive and I prefer it that way. It fits my mood, and I find it relaxing and peaceful.
I remove my jacket and hang it carefully on the coat rack. I make my way to my bedroom while I loosen my cuffs. The city glows through the windows like something contained in a jar.
Then I think of his hands again. Leo.
The scars are thin but numerous, mapping a private history across his skin that I want to touch and memorize.
When I stood close to him in my office, I’d felt it, the restraint required not to take those hands in mine and test the limits of his reactions.
I’m not reckless, but desire is a pressure system.
It builds and expands until it’s ready to explode.
I move through the apartment slowly, remembering the way his breathing changed when I said his name.
The way he blushed when praised. The way he stood too straight when nervous, as if posture could replace armor.
The faint smell of metal and soap that clung to him, the mix between industrial and human.
I’d wanted to tell him then.
You are already mine.
I stop at the window, the city reflected faintly over my face, and revisit our conversation. I lied to him. I gave him hope within my deceit, to make it impossible to refuse. There are no collectors waiting. No dinners full of interested patrons eager to fund obscure metal sculptures.
There will be a table. Candles and food. His wife will be just as shocked at my real offer, but no doubt tempted. And me. I shakily inhale at the excitement of the game that’s about to begin.
I will reel him in like a fish on a hook. I will become the only future available. Leo will never be able to imagine a life without me in it. Boredom will become a distant memory, with Leo filling the gap for eternity.
People misunderstand manipulation. They imagine puppets on strings or gaslighting to the extreme.
But the most refined control is by invitation.
You don’t push someone into a cage, you convince them it is shelter.
A harbor of safety. Make them believe that it’s their choice, that this is where they want to be.
Thinking they have reached their own conclusion is a lot more powerful than forcefully dictating their decisions. It’s a science.
I take a deep breath and consider the situation. Leo wants to be seen and his wife wants to be elevated.
I want him.
Everyone will get what they asked for, just not in the way they expected.
I picture him standing in my office again, eyes uncertain but bright with that innocent, fragile hope. He doesn’t yet understand that I chose him the day my eyes first landed on him. That his path has already been carved out by me.
Tomorrow, I will place the offer in their hands, and I will make sure he will believe it is his idea to accept. Men like Leo mistake offers of help for kindness, like what we are doing is in his best interest.
I intend to keep him under that illusion for as long as it’s necessary.